


the husband and wife game

by Celestos (Seruspica)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: F/M, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7431879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seruspica/pseuds/Celestos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request fic, post-series. It's their game, coming and going in rounds. The question is, when to give up and quit... Sort of onesided Fianceshipping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the husband and wife game

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request on Tumblr, and I did it to celebrate 100 followers. I've revised it a little since the original tumblr post.

Some days, she walks in to the house and finds that another round of the game has started.

Her ears pick up the sounds of clattering pans and spoons in the kitchen, and the scent of a freshly-cooked meal tempts her in. It's something she can resist, but chooses to never back down from, not when her old friend. and classmate comes back without warning, into her home and back into her life. When he's cooked, he gives her a share; she gives back her warmth and the largest 'thank you' her heart can afford.

Judai travels. His feet take him far and wide.

It's whenever he comes back, just for a while, that the game starts; the game of husband and wife.

Sometimes, Asuka comes in to find the couch spotless and the cushions perfectly plumped, and thinks that she probably did it. Sometimes, it's Judai who wonders whether he left that perfectly clean jacket of his on the chair, or if it was on the floor and stained in three colours last night.

It's kind of funny, she thinks, how he tries so hard just for her, or just for his own sake. She's not sure why he does it - but whenever she asks, there isn't an answer. What Judai does, he just does.

There are times when neither one realises that the other is playing.

He washes the dishes, even if it's not as thoroughly as she likes them to be washed, and there's still the odd smear on a few of them that he either hasn't noticed or doesn't give a damn about. He puts in some kind of effort, at least, and that's enough for her. He does it with a smile on his face, too, and it brings her a strange kind of relief, because she sees that he's fine.

Sometimes, she sees his old, childish face.

The game isn't something anyone tells her to play; not even Judai asks her about it. She never says a word to him either, because she sees him and knows it's enough. They begin.

One day, he brings flowers. She laughs and says she's allergic to those ones. The next time he comes, he brings the same ones, but plastic. She gives him the round; one point to Judai, one point to the smile and the comeback.

Two pairs of eyes meet for a second, and so begins a new round.

She beats him the next time, and offers him both of her blankets in front of the fire. He nods, and sighs and relaxes, even if just for a few hours.

Asuka's heart slows, and she breathes in the calmness.

Their times together are brief. The game ends too fast; sometimes, it's minutes. They're lucky if it's more than a few hours.

He goes without saying a word. Sometimes, she wakes to find him no longer there. Too often, he's gone with the wind, leaving no trace, not even a fleck of mud from his boots or a loose hair on the couch. She sighs.

So ends the game, so goes on life.

She waits. She carries on living. She doesn't give up her dreams. She studies, thinks, dreams. She goes on further. She sees someone, but just for a while. It can never go anywhere, and she doesn't want to try any further.

Judai tells her it will. He tells her he'll come to her wedding one day.

It doesn't matter, because it hurts still.

She falls back onto the couch that he neatened up. Her eyes drift to the ceiling and her mind drifts to a certain bright smile; his oddly-worn tennis shoes and the dust on his shorts, and the day their small game began, even just as a joke, even just as an accident. It had been a game, in the end.

The game had been childish.

 _Even still,_ she thinks, _I was never pretending._


End file.
